The Lava in My Bones (34 page)

One night in a stupor of drunkenness and rage, my husband came to my bed. He touched my shoulder, and I said, “All right,” for now I saw God's will in everything. Thus, Sue was begat. Again my husband dragged his nets to the sea. When my daughter was born, the stillness in our kitchen was broken, and a wind knocked the sugar dish from the shelf and sprayed sink water on the floorboards. She had a full head of hair that riffled like seaweed underwater. The first time she saw her brother, she cried out an explosion of sound—what word did she say? Sam smiled at her and punched his thigh. When I wrapped my arms around my children, their backs became shields, as mine was to my husband, as the house walls were to the steep valley slopes, and as those slopes were to the outside world. Shields against shields against shields. At church Sue never listened to sermons but huddled in the pew, ears cocked toward the wind-shook windows. “Rattle, rattle,” she'd hiss, “rattle-rattle.”

At twelve years old, Sam said to me, “I hate your church. Going inside is like entering the honeycomb of your brain.” I burst into
tears. His sister cackled, and the two of them joined hands and ran shrieking out the door. I knew then I'd failed and had turned my children against me. Lord protect me from Satan whose skin is scaly and his breath foul no matter how many Certs he chews!

I have repeating nightmares, and when I wake, the bed sheets are so wet with sweat that, wrung out, they fill buckets. In one dream Sam is swimming and cuts his feet on knives hidden like coral reefs in a ketchup sea. He doesn't know he's bleeding for his blood is the sea's colour and he continues to swim, bleed, and shed his skin until he dissolves into the ocean red.

In another dream, my daughter lies in a tub of mayonnaise that soothes the blackfly bites she got running in the hills. I chide her, “Get up for church; today is the Easter Cantata.” She ignores me. The mayonnaise hardens and she stops breathing, still grinning. Workmen try to chisel her out but can't tell where she and the mayonnaise begins and ends, and they hack her to bits. The tub is full of white-beige rubble; each piece resembles the meringues sold by the Ladies' Auxiliary, except some are crunchy with bits of bone and others have eyes staring out.

I have dreamt of my children turning blind, having mustard fights. I have seen their skin on fire beneath storm clouds that rain salsa. God hath no place in the liquids of this world. He baptized with water, not honey or drinkable yogurt. My children shall be saved by the lithe resourcefulness of the body. But whose body? Satan huddles behind my sewing kit and, in an unexpected moment, I'll shove a needle into his eyeball!

The day I intercepted Sam's fax to Sue, I knew that God was on my side. I read Sam's letter in one breath, put it back into the
envelope, resealed it with melted candle wax and re-deposited it in the mailbox for Sue. If we were all going on a trip, she needed to know the details.

I emptied my bank account and purchased a ticket, sensing that I was embarking on a doomed voyage. What could be achieved by following my children? I imagined their surprise upon meeting me on board, their cries of horror and outrage. I could scream, shout, thrash about on the floor, and pull my hair out by the roots, but I'd already tried these strategies and they hadn't worked. When Satan is picking his nose, may his finger get stuck and remain up one nostril for eternity!

I know I over-control my children. I choke them to compensate for my life's emptiness. A week before our departure, I carried a jugful of water up the winding path that led to the highest peak on the steepest hill. The humid air was a hot hand pressing my face; water beads sprouted like diamonds on my forehead. In an air full of sea salt, the cry of gulls, and the sound of waves pummelling rocks, I knelt before the Virgin. Her body is solid stone, her legs concealed inside a rippling rock dress. A stained hood swirls around her alabaster face, and her pupil-less eyes are beacons that gaze east toward Africa and Christ's birthplace. Her nostrils flare. Mary's unblemished face shows calm, but her hands clutch each other so tightly that the veins bulge like snakes.

I poured clear water over her massive boots and placed the empty jug beneath her. “Mary, I don't know what to do. I bully and scold my children. Why can't I let them grow up and trust you'll look after them? I long to bring them to Your Grace, return
them to Our Fold, but Satan has coated Sue's body with the sticky mire of Earth and shoved rocks into Sam's saliva-dripping mouth. The world's ingredients are greater than I. When I polish the bathroom taps, the cleanser corrodes my nail polish; I hold clip-on earrings near my lobes and they snap like leeches into my skin. If I let my children go their merry way, they'll turn into a couple of sickos and will reject you and my love forever. What should I do?”

I stared at the bare stone surface of her shins for hours. The winds died down. Mary's white lips didn't part, but amazingly, I heard her words! Her voice was as clear as a dewdrop on an erect blade of grass.

“You have been a faithful servant,” she intoned. “You have prayed, you have sung to the Lord. You have cooked, cleaned, and washed windows for the Lord. You have baked brownies for the church bazaar, good brownies with almonds in them, a highly original recipe. But remember: God is stronger than the world. God releases the enslaved from enslavement. Baptize your children with my wetness, and God will fill them. You shall then bid them farewell, and they will enter adulthood, the mark of your love imprinted on them forever. Remember that one day all our bodies shall be One, and the Kingdom of Heaven shall reign on Earth just as it did that split-second long ago when seed touched egg in your womb.”

“What do you mean ‘wetness'?” I asked.

Some people might accuse me of having delusions, but what happened next was so concrete that I shall register it in the
Eucharistic Book of Miracles.
From between Mary's legs squirted
one, two, three times, a yellow liquid that filled the jug on the ground. I lifted the bottle toward Mary's impassive face and gazed at the fluid swirling in sunlight. A nectar of God more sacred than the waters of Lourdes.

A horn wailed and I beheld, far below, a flag-decked ship that tapped against the harbour dock. The boat's sides sloped gracefully from the water like two outstretched hands. On its deck stood three squat, symmetrical stacks. Sea water flickered like a million winking eyes. At that moment, the ship, the dock, and the water were the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen. I knew then I would succeed. My children would remain in my life, for God knew I couldn't be without them.

All hail the Lord of Lords whose throne is a real throne and not the toilet some people mean when they say “throne”!

The day of my departure I combed Sue's hair, then watched her stumble up the street. I wanted to cry. I hurried down the hill. If I ran into a neighbour, I'd say I was visiting my sister on Goose Island. Of course, my husband was out on his boat. I left no note to explain my absence. I'd spent a lifetime worrying about him. Now let him fret about me. Still, the guilt of those who abandon filled me. I told myself that I respected my children's wishes and was simply embarking on this trip because the Virgin Mary had commanded it. Yet as I approached the harbour, my cheeks felt hot with shame.

At three a.m., alone in the dark, I watched the ship arrive; it
would leave again in two hours. Luckily Sam and Sue weren't here yet and didn't catch me boarding. The white-uniformed guard glanced at my passport and third-class ticket. He nodded. “Level Two. Corridor One.”

Then I crossed the arched bridge between dock and boat and descended into the bowels of the ship, far deeper than I wanted to go. (I'd asked for the cheapest room.) I headed down the dimly lit halls and entered a small cabin containing a cot covered with a foam mattress and a wafer-thin blanket. I sat nervously on the bed knowing that, at this hour, the passengers who'd boarded in St. John's or New York were asleep. Now was the time to explore the ship.

Beside my room I discovered a square archway above a rectangular counter. Behind hung rows of jackets, dresses, and pants wrapped in cellophane. A hand-painted sign read “Weldon's Complementary Dry-Cleaning.”

My flat-soled shoes padded softly as I continued down the hall, one hand flitting over the handrail. My other hand half-covered my face. Sam might be already on board and could catch me here. I also worried he and Sue would miss the ship; the whistle would blow and I'd be dragged from my old life and thrust into something new I never wanted. I made quiet, careful steps, almost afraid that if I stamped my feet forcefully or opened a door too suddenly, the vessel would split apart.

I discovered a mailroom, cook's quarters, a water purification centre, and several storage rooms. I liked the spareness of the corridor but not the rows of harsh and flickering fluorescent lights. There were only two directions to go, forward or back; no
turns, detours, or cubbyholes. I felt as exposed as if on a fashion-show runway.

At the end of the hall was a door marked “Warning: Boiler Room. Do Not Enter.” Of course I went in. There, a steel cylinder trembled, gurgled, and spat on frog-leg haunches. I enjoyed the clatter and noise of this room. If somebody opened the door, he'd be distracted by this shuddering metal monstrosity and not notice me. In Cartwright, I felt as though I towered into the sky like a colossus, casting such shadows that those below didn't know if my body or the Earth's rotation caused the arrival of night that stained the sky black. Yet I was not just any old colossus, but one with hips that swung and fingers that snapped, with Yvresse-scented, bouncy-curled hair, and thrusting, jelly-jiggle boobs that poked you in the eye. You silly reader, I am not a hung-up prude, and if my husband had known what was good for him, he could've had this throbbing, more-luscious-than-Lovelace body to have and hold.

However, on this ship, I needed invisibility. Behind the boiler, a metal ladder ascended into a narrow cleft in the ceiling. I put one hand on a metal slat, the steel beautifully cold against my palm. As I climbed the ladder, the boiler made
hubba-hubba
sounds. Entering the opening, I felt like mist ascending. I reached a landing that connected to two catwalks that went in opposite directions. I followed a second ladder to discover other catwalks, another landing, and more ladders. Hallelu! The entire inner framework of the ship was accessible to me.

At the top was a squat metal door. I pushed its lever forward and walked out onto an empty, windy deck; I saw railings and,
beyond them, the lights of Cartwright. Pipes rose on each side of me, and a swinging rowboat teetered over my head.

I re-entered the ship and returned to my cabin. Alone in the dark, I reassured myself that Sam would be on board and he'd succeed in getting Sue on too. He was a genius; he hadn't won the Labrador science prize for nothing. But this could be a trick. What if he and Sue had no intention of leaving and the fax was sent to get rid of me? I remembered combing Sue's hair; her hands shook, her eyes watered. Such excitement was hard to feign, especially for Sue, who was a terrible actress and only good at playing herself.

My children would be here and they'd be miserable together. They'd often directed their chronic resentment at me, but now they'd aim it at each other. I especially pitied my daughter, who had fewer gifts than her brother. How I longed to take both my dear children in my arms and kiss them—but they'd pull away disgusted. May Mary shine upon my offspring with her beautiful uncapped teeth!

Wood creaked and the ship rocked. I reached into my purse, touched the bottle of Mary with my fingertips, and discovered it was warm. I lay down and tried to sleep. I would discover things I hadn't known about my children. Perhaps terrible things. For a moment I wished I weren't here but safely at home.